


No Such Thing as Neverland

by ForeverEvan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst and Feels, Dark Hermione Granger, F/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 08:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14374515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverEvan/pseuds/ForeverEvan
Summary: After the War, Marcus Flint finds internal conflict when he comes to realize that all actions have consequences - and the fragile balance of maintaining his promise to the Dark Lord come with the risk of losing the one person he cares for.





	No Such Thing as Neverland

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheSlytherinCabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinCabal/pseuds/TheSlytherinCabal) in the [DBQ2018Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2018Round1) collection. 



> This writing is part of The Slytherin Cabal Facebook Group Death by Quill challenge (Round 1). If you are looking for a great group for writers or just sharing stories, seek them out!
> 
> I want to give a huge shout out to my fantastic Beta, who cannot be named as this one shot is part of a writing contest. She deserves all the credit for keeping spelling/grammar in check, and pointing out where I needed to take the story a bit deeper. 
> 
> I am not paid for what I write, and this whole fantastic world belongs to J.K. Rowling, who graciously lets those of us who never got our Hogwarts letters to dream up different ways to keep the magic world alive.

_I am a lost boy from Neverland_  
_Usually hanging out with Peter Pan_  
_And when we're bored we play in the woods_  
_Always on the run from Captain Hook_  
_"Run, run, lost boy, " they say to me_  
_Away from all of reality_  
\- Lost Boy, Ruth B.

 

“Did you know there was a boy called Peter Pan in this story who lived forever? He would sometimes take the children with him to Neverland.” 

Marcus smiled, side eyeing his companion with amusement. “I haven’t heard this fairytale yet,” he replied. Katie had been quiet these past few years. When she did speak, it was mostly about books the Muggle children would bring when they came to the sanctuary house in the coastal town of Tinworth. They sat in the sand between the beach and the dwelling that housed a small handful of the magical community who would never quite recover from the war. This was an exclusive club, and membership came at a high price. 

“It isn’t a fairytale, although there is a particularly nasty fairy in it,” Katie argued, hugging the worn book with the rugged cover to her chest. They were both barefoot, Katie wearing comfortable loungewear befitting a Muggle on a beach vacation contrasting sharply with the formal slacks and button-down shirt Marcus wore. Both blended into the illusion of being completely ordinary. 

Between them laid a bouquet of a dozen sunset pink peonies wrapped in brown paper with a silver bow. Every weekly visit, he would bring her the same bouquet of flowers. They weren’t her favorite – she preferred sunflowers. But the peonies seemed to resonate with Katie on some level that she knew him from before – when everything would be blank, and placing his role in her life completely impossible. 

“Why is Peter Pan noteworthy?” Marcus asked, leaning back and supporting his weight on his elbows as he watched her carefully. 

Katie looked over, her face half hidden in the shadows of the setting sun. “Because he was a Lost Boy. Only existing in the world he would create for himself, bringing back what he thought was good and beautiful.” 

Marcus stiffened, but stayed silent, watching her turn her gaze back to the waves crashing on the shore. The air was still thick with summer and smelled of the grass and the flowers growing all around the sanctuary with the salty hints of the sea. This place was a hospital for the damaged, those who had scars with nightmares instead of names. For people like her, who could barely remember who they even were. Marcus preferred to imagine that Katie liked it this way - the seclusion made the absence of her memories feel normal.

“The dreams are coming back again, Marcus,” Katie whispered, closing her eyes tightly to stop tears, breaking Marcus from his thoughts.

He had brought her here for safekeeping after begging to spare her life the day Potter fell. It was only Marcus’ constant allegiance that persuaded the Dark Lord to grant him this wish, but as every dealing with Lord Voldemort did, it came with … stipulations. 

“What do you see, Katie?” Marcus asked, fighting to keep his tone calm and reserved, as if interested as opposed to terrified. Not so much that she would remember, but that he would have to put her through the pain of taking it all away again. 

She took a long, deep measured breath – and let it out slowly. Katie swallowed, and shifted to face Marcus, watching his reaction.

“I see the man with the pale face and yellow teeth, smiling the utterly worst smile I have ever seen. I don’t know who he is or what he wants from me, but when I see him smiling at me, he says my name. He calls me… Katie… And asks me to come home.”

Marcus sat up almost too fast to check his reaction. He didn’t want to startle Katie further. “What else?” 

“I see…faces…” she finally spoke, moving to set her book down in the sand by the flowers and hug her bent legs to her chest, supporting her chin in the space between her knees. “I feel inside that I am supposed to be sad. These faces – they don’t have sparkle in their eyes. They don’t look alive.”

Marcus leaned over, placing one of his hands on either side of her face, tilting it gently to look up and make direct eye contact. “Katie… Do you remember who you are?” he asked gently, but the intensity made it clear that the question was anything but casual.

Katie immediately responded to the dominating shift by shrinking, but his grip tightened. Fingers squeezed under her jawline and behind her ears, palms pressed into the soft cheeks.

This was the part Marcus hated the most.

Her eyes widened, and he knew she knew.

A single tear rolled down her right cheek. It took everything within his power to refrain from letting go, to wipe it away. When it happened immediately after the war, her memories would take weeks to resurface when the charm ebbed away, little by little. But in the years since the war, it came quicker every time. He was still holding her head still when her body started shaking, wracked with silent sobs.

Marcus tried to resist, but found himself pulling her into his embrace. She folded into him, reaching up to grab onto his shirt in her tight fist with one hand, the other shielding her eyes from the setting sun by balling into a fist and pulling the crook of her elbow up to seal her face away. He leaned down, his cheek resting on the top of her head as his arms wrapped around her small frame.

“ _Obliviate_ …” came a third voice, followed by the white flash of the charm as it struck the back of Katie’s head. Marcus, startled, held still, eyes jetting up to see the tall figure of Hermione Granger holding the wand. Her lips were pressed together, and he knew she was pissed.

After assisting the mediwitch with moving Katie up to bed to recover – Hermione’s charm leaving Katie completely confused and unable to even walk, Marcus abandoned his flowers on the sandy beach, but ensured that Katie would wake to find her book on the nightstand.

Hermione waited in the Ministry of Magic transport car, arms crossed over her chest, wand stowed away in the specially sewn pocket into the fabric folds of her sun dress within arm’s reach in the rear passenger side, staying silent and completely ignoring their driver. Marcus opened the rear driver side door and slid inside, buckling and refusing to make eye contact.

“You promised, never again,” Hermione began the minute they pulled away. “You said you wouldn’t visit.” Marcus growled.

“I answer to Voldemort, not the pitiful wretch he forced me to marry, Granger. Never forget that, and check your jealousy in my presence, it’s an unattractive feature in a mate,” he responded acidly.

Hermione slapped him, without warning.

Marcus reached out and grabbed her arms, holding them together in his lap. The Dark Mark on her pale forearm was the only clue of how the Dark Lord managed to win. Potter had been betrayed by her own hand, willingly. Her life and status in exchange for everything. It was too late when Marcus realized that his actions would have consequences worse than he could even stomach.

“Control yourself,” he ordered, letting go once the struggling stopped. Marcus turned to stare out the window in silence.

Silently resigning himself to a prison of an arguably worse kind.

 

*******

 

Marcus excused himself  just after breakfast Sunday morning for a meeting with the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol team at the Ministry of Magic. The previous week had been nothing short of exhausting. Granger had made no peace in their flat, continually grilling him for visiting Katie after the promises existing only in her head were apparently broken. Thankfully the meeting was quick and before leaving, Marcus’ secretary Hannah Abbott brought in the same bouquet of a dozen sunset pink peonies wrapped in brown paper with a silver bow that he kept on a standing order.

“Your car is ready, sir,” she spoke softly, refusing to let her eyes lift from the floor as she retreated.

Marcus excused himself with the flowers, losing himself in thought as he made the journey to Tinworth. He was remembering the events that brought them here - begging the Dark Lord to spare Katie, the spunky Quidditch player he had had a soft spot for the whole time he had known her. He had been there, fighting along the Death Eaters the day that Harry Potter fell; the day Hermione had led Potter to Voldemort, and the subsequent slaughter of his loyal followers. Hogwarts oozed with the sheen of their blood, and the bodies were stacked and strewn. It left the Castle reeking of death. And there she was...covered in tear and blood stained smears across her face and clothes, holding the mangled remains of Angela Johnson in her lap.

He had hidden them away from the Wizarding world in the country for a short time. Katie had been catatonic, refusing to eat and only coming to her senses long enough to hurl insults at Marcus and his kind. He had to keep her subdued much of the time, and even then her fragile mind was cracking. That’s when the solution had been presented: Marcus could return to the Dark Lord’s services if he would first surrender Katie. And Katie would be spared in comfort if he would move his efforts to controlling Hermione.

Hermione Granger seemed to infer two truths about the situation in her ‘brilliant’ mind: 1. A misguided belief that Marcus had agreed because he loved her, and 2. An aversion to following any instruction or guidance from the Dark Lord or from Marcus himself in an attempt to prove how capable and independent she was. No matter how many times Marcus tried to tell her this arrangement was nothing more than an order from on high, an exchange for allowing Katie to be absolved of war crimes and kept in security and comfort until her mind could heal from the effects of the war and the constant complicated spells to keep the painful memories away, Hermione wouldn’t have it.

Marcus couldn’t bring himself to even try with Granger. Not one bit.

When he reached the sanctuary, he found that Katie had not left her bed yet. The mediwitch gave the report that she was eating with assistance, but otherwise showed no improvement. He set the flowers on her end table, and let himself fall into the bed, pulling Katie’s sleeping form into his arms and falling asleep to the rhythm of her breathing. He dreamt of what may have happened in another time with less political factions to pull them in opposite directions. The idea of being with Katie gave him better dreams than Marcus could have possibly imagined.

Marcus could see Katie sitting on the floor, in front of a fireplace as the light danced across the stone walls and wooden floors. Two girls with dark, wild hair were there, the older with her hair in a braid, the younger with a pixie mess of straight whisps darting in every direction. They were telling stories of dragons and princesses, of magic and heroics. He could smell rosemary and baking bread, and he could feel peace. This place was strange, and yet it was home. Katie caught his eye, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips as she playfully roared like the naughty dragon in the story, darting out to tickle the smaller girl who erupted into squeals. “Daddy!” came the chorus of little voices, and he felt the pull of imaginary small arms wrapping around him as they tackled him. And Marcus laughed, wrapping his arms around his children as Katie joined in, pausing only to kiss his cheek in a private moment of pure contented love - a dream of an image he had never felt before.

It played over and over in his mind until every detail was etched into his mind. Every angle of the faces of the children, how many stones made up each wall, the warm smell of baking and sounds of joy. This could have been his home had Potter won. Marcus would have done anything to protect Katie, even if she hadn’t the slightest idea of how deeply in esteem he cared for her.

Some hours later, he woke as a shadow fell across the bed, and he looked up to see Granger. The peaceful feelings vanished. “What do you want now, Granger?” he growled, eyes turning to slits as he glared at the one person he hated more than the Dark Lord himself.

“I want you to stop pining after the used up toys you cannot have, Flint,” Hermione shot back. “I want you to be the husband you promised.” Her arms were crossed and her eyes were puffy, the only sign she had been crying.

“Life’s not fair, Granger. You will never be Katie. Not to me.”

Those words were worse than a thousand searing knives slicing through what little shred of self control Granger had. “You really think her mind will heal, don’t you, Marcus?” Granger mused out loud, taking two long steps closer and closing the door. Her tone was hushed, but he knew it to be dangerous. Marcus stood, positioning himself between Katie and Granger. Granger choked out a sneer. “You will never be her George Weasley, idiot. All you were to her was a faceless wannabe contender, unable to stand up and be the villain on your own merits.”

“And you will always be the insufferable bookworm traitor who sent your friends to die for your own pleasure.”

He saw her go for her wand, and Marcus had a decision to make in the time it takes for a person to realize their life was going to depend on that next heartbeat. Instead of reaching for his own wand, he found himself turning to see Katie, watch her sleeping. His heart broke in that moment - did she see the same image of home in her dreams? Did she know their daughters too? Would Katie ever remember, and could she grow to love Marcus despite his involvement in the war? All these thoughts caused his heart to ache, and he knew this was it. Katie was always going to be his one - no matter what Hermione did. Dying with her would be a privilege and an honor, damn the rest of it.

Marcus looked up to eye the tip of Granger’s wand. He exhaled slowly, and let the relief of choosing defeat wash over his tired soul in waves.

“I would say it’s been a pleasure, Granger, but I know better than to lie to you,” Marcus taunted.

“Fuck you, Flint.” Granger was livid. “Guess what? Dying is too good for you. It’s time for you to find your purpose again, and let these loose ends go.” Granger took a deep, slow breath. Marcus watched, waiting to see her lips begin to move - still hoping even if irrationally that Granger would finally realize the truth, and decide to take a long walk off a short pier somewhere along the rocky beach and finally leave him free to focus on Katie’s rehabilitation. But this fleeting hope was dashed just as quickly as he watched her lips form the words that sealed his fate. “ _Obliviate_ …”

 

*******

 

Marcus felt himself coming to. He was in the Ministry car with Granger, driving through a coastal part of the countryside. He wouldn’t have known it, but all memories from after the war involving Katie had been removed from his mind. Fortunately for Granger, Marcus did not suffer from a broken heart on the verge of a mental break after seeing death and destruction he could not handle, and the after effects of the spell would not leave him in an equally vulnerable state as his would-be mate. He would have no confusion, and the single spell - while thorough - would not leave the same lasting damage.

Granger looked at his face, almost as if she were anticipating something. Only the very fine lines of worry accenting her otherwise flawless eyes displayed any adverse emotion. She reached out a hand and rested it on his knee. “Did you have a nice nap?” she asked.

She held a dozen sunset pink peonies wrapped in brown paper with a silver bow and a worn out Muggle book with the picture of a boy dressed in mossy greens and browns in some kind of forest. For the life of him, Marcus could not remember why they were traveling just now.

“Stellar,” Marcus replied, feeling generally refreshed. “Where are we?”

“You brought me here to Tinworth to have a picnic on the coast after your meeting, but the weather was bad and the Muggles were worse. Let’s go somewhere nicer next time,” Granger said, allowing a smile to pull at the corner of her mouth ever so slightly.

Marcus nodded after a pause. “Fine by me, Granger. You pick the spot next week.” He eyed the book again, feeling as if he remembered it from someplace else, as if it were misplaced. A chill prickled the skin on the back of his neck, but Marcus shrugged it off. The suspicion that something was wrong was unfounded, he told himself. Marcus turned to stare back out the window as the car moved back towards London, and with Marcus wondering why he felt something terribly substantial was missing from his soul.


End file.
